


The Love We Carry Inside

by sweetstrawberryheadache



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Harry's POV, Idiots in Love, M/M, Self-Indulgent, arts students, my tribute to my favourite city really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2020-11-07 13:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetstrawberryheadache/pseuds/sweetstrawberryheadache
Summary: Summer 1923When Harry received the letter of acceptance from the Sapienza University, he could not believe his luck. A four-month internship in Rome was an incredible opportunity, one that would certainly change his life forever. He doesn’t realize just yet how drastically his whole world is about to change.A hot summer in the Eternal City. Lots of gelato and art anecdotes, jazz records and a blooming love story meant to last forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oi Oi lovelies ! 
> 
> This story has been on my mind for so long I can't believe I'm actually, FINALLY posting it. 
> 
> Huge thanks to all of you who shared my post when I found myself in desperate need of a beta; I was so close to just give up and let this fic die in my drive, you have no idea. 
> 
> Speaking of beta, a billion thank you to Brittany (@brittmeetsworld) for helping me with this one. I'm forever grateful <333
> 
> Shout out to my girl Evenise, for listening to me rant on whatsapp about this. I can't believe we're meeting in a month (y'all we're going to a 1D party in London, isn't that awesome ?!? It's going to be WILD) 
> 
> To @pupperlouis: I am in love with your art, and commissioning you on this fic was one of my best idea ever. Thank you so much for bringing those characters to life, I adore the final result, it's PERFECT ! 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who decided to give this story a chance. I hope you'll like it. 
> 
> Annnnd disclaimer : This fic is a complete work of fiction. Do not send it to anyone even remotely related to the boys and/or post it somewhere else. Unless you want me to change my identity and move to Argentina.

**Rome, June 1923**

“Arry? Arry!” 

Harry turns his attention toward Silvia, his mind elsewhere as the Italian ice cream maker hands the cone over.

“I’m sorry, I was-”

“With your head in the clouds, as usual.” She tuts, cleaning her hands on her apron. “Anyway, one ice cream for my pretty British boy.”

A rebellious strand falls from the messy bun perched on the top of her head, the silver hair catching the natural light, and Harry can’t help but laugh as she blows away the offending piece of hair. He places the money in her hand and squeezes for a second. 

“Grazie mille, Silvia.” Harry smiles back. “I'll see you soon.”

“I hope so.” Her Italian accent is thick, her English perfect. “Bring the blue-eyed boy with you next time. He always makes me laugh.”

Harry nods in salute and smiles as he steps aside to free the spot. There’s a bunch of eager teenagers waiting to get their hands on the delicious treat, and he can almost feel the impatience shine through their clothes. He can’t blame them really, he’s become rather addicted to it himself.

It’s the middle of June, and the heat in Rome is almost too much for Harry, when all he’s known for his entire life is the uncertainty of British summers. The weather in Holmes Chapel, his hometown, tends to change without warning, sunny days easily making way to unexpected rainy streaks. But here, each day begins with the sun mercilessly warming up every corner and every street; up until it purposefully sets in the west. Stray animals seek refuge from the sweltering heat wherever they can. Rejoicing in a patch of shadow or a blotch of water, the only reprieve they can seem to find. Citizens and tourists chase down relief as well, usually managing to escape the scorching heat by lounging on terraces set around the famous piazze of the antique city.

Harry has been in Rome long enough to avoid the tourists’ common mistakes. He put aside all his black clothes, begrudgingly gave up on all his pairs of boots and bought a Borsalino. He always has a bottle of water with him so he can stay hydrated, and he never carries more than necessary when he goes out.

Today, for instance, he opted for a white, cotton tank top tucked into large, high-waisted cream trousers. It feels like he can breathe in these clothes. There's no restraint or scratchy fabric to make him feel itchy. The truth is, despite the comfort these clothes offer, he’d rather spend his day naked. Too bad there’s this thing called public decency. A shame, really.

Nevertheless, he can feel droplets of sweat running down his spine. His shirt clings to his back, making him feel dirty when really he showered two hours ago. He brushes the unpleasantness away in favour of appreciating how lucky he is to be a temporary resident of one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

_Piazza del popolo _ is one of his favourite places in the city. Not just because of its architecture, but also for its history. Long before railways were invented, the piazza was the terminal point to any passenger coming from the north of the country. It was always buzzing with people and activity. If Harry were to close his eyes and let his mind wander, he could trick himself into imagining the noise surrounding him actually comes from Italian citizens in early nineteenth century’ clothes, women carrying umbrellas and men checking their pocket watches.

He doesn’t close his eyes though. He’d rather take in the grandeur of Santa Maria del Popolo, the fifteenth century baroque church. Or the impossible height of the obelisk brought centuries ago, the splendour of the four lion statues strategically placed to form a square at the center of the piazza, the stony stairwell leading to the Pincio gardens. It takes Harry's breath away to be able to witness it all.

He ends up sitting on the stairwell leading to the gardens as he waits for a more comfortable spot to become available while he watches people wandering around. The stracciatella ice cream is delicious as always; the cream is not too sugary, just as he likes it, and the chocolate chips melt under his tongue. It's a piece of heaven he never knew he needed, and yet here is, coming at least once a week to the piazza to charm Silvia with his dimples and his good manners. 

Eventually, he spots a couple of tourists getting up from one of the benches scattered around the piazza. He hurries to it with a grin, hoping no one is going to snatch it before he gets there. He’s got sticky hands because of the cone he’s still holding, remnants of ice cream dripping on his fingers, but the prospect of laying in the sun spurs him on. Nothing could make him bitter at this point. He throws the cone in the nearest bin, hoping Silvia hasn’t caught him doing so from her stand. 

He lies on the hot stone bench, with his feet dangling but his shoulders plastered against it, completely relaxed and content, hair flowing in a rare, light breeze. The tip of a strand comes to tickle his nose and Harry chuckles lightly.

Finally, when he's comfortable enough, he closes his eyes and concentrates on the chaos surrounding him, languages from all around the world giving life to a beautiful, chaotic symphony he can’t comprehend. He’s already afraid to have to say goodbye to all of it in just six weeks from now. He wonders how, out of all of them, he’ll manage to renounce the one voice he never wants to stop hearing, when those exact raspy notes make their way to his ears.

“I knew I’d find you here.” Louis says with a mocking tone. “So predictable H, honestly.”

Harry slowly opens his eyes, the sun almost blinding him. Louis stands above him, surrounded by an angelic halo with a happy smile on his face, fists on his hips like he’s about to give a lecture. Harry exhales a shaky breath and giggles in embarrassment, dimples popping on his cheeks. If only Louis knew he’s the one thing he was thinking about merely seconds ago. He’d probably, finally, see right through him. Straight through his mind and into his heart.

“I was bored.” Harry says as he brings a hand to shield his eyes from the sun light. “And you’re always late, so …”

Louis gasps in fake shock and bumps his knee against Harry’s shoulder in retaliation, but a large, wicked grin appears on his face a second after as Harry rubs his shoulder with a pout. Harry doesn’t want to move yet and Louis seems to understand, so he settles for sitting on the bench, forcing Harry to scoot away a little bit. 

“How was your morning lesson by the way?” Louis asks as he extracts a pair of sunglasses from his linen bag. He's wearing a pale blue shirt today, like a cloud painted on his lithe upper body, and linen cream pants just like Harry. His are a tight fit though, and, in Harry’s opinion, they compliment his figure in an almost cruel way. He brushes the thought away as fast as it comes.

“Incredible. We talked about Da Vinci and how his work resonates with our current research. Hadn’t felt the four hours pass, to be honest.”

“Good, good.” Louis answers absentmindedly.

They remain silent for a while, both of them enjoying the sun licking their already sun-kissed skin. Harry knows it will not last. Louis is incapable of being quiet for too long, and Harry doesn't want him to anyway. Eventually, he clears his throat and Harry knows what's coming. Louis narrates to him the different scenes unfolding in front of him, just because he loves commenting on anything and everything he sees. He adopts a radio host voice just to make Harry laugh, even if he is only describing tourists as they take pictures of their surroundings. He loves to imagine where they’re from and how they talk, the way they interact with each other. 

“Is there something in particular you want to do today?” Louis finally asks as he scoots back against Harry’s thighs, trapping him in the best way.

“Not particularly, no. Do you?”

“I thought we could just walk around the city.” Louis says as he readjusts the thick framed sunglasses on his nose.

“I feel like we’ve done that a million times by now, don’t you want to do something else?”

“I know, but we always end up somewhere new, right? Like last time, we never would have found that little restaurant if we hadn’t just chosen to wander.” Louis sighs. “God, I could do with a piece of torta al limone right now.”

Harry chuckles, mouth watering at the memory of the succulent pie. He could definitely devour one of these too, despite the ice cream he just had.

“On Sunday, I want to go to the beach.” Louis picks up. “One of my neighbours told me the cinque stelle beach is quite nice. It’s a long drive, but I can ask Marco to lend me his car. Need to work on my tan.”

Harry scoffs because Louis doesn’t need to work on his tan, not really. After spending more than two months in Italy, his skin has taken up a caramel shade that would make any Briton envious. It makes his crystal blue eyes so dazzling, Harry has a hard time maintaining eye contact sometimes.

“You think he’ll let you borrow his precious car? I wouldn’t.” Harry adds with a smirk.

Louis elbows him in the ribs, the hit light but still surprising, and Harry would have fallen from the bench if Louis had not immediately circled his waist and brought Harry's body close to his. The devilish grin painted on his face shows how proud he is of the little scare he just gave. Harry slaps his hand away, hoping the blush on his face can be credited to the heat.

“He’s not just my landlord anymore, we’re friends now. And he needs me.” Louis adds with a shrug. “I babysit the girls sometimes, I know exactly how he likes his coffee AND I never refuse food. I’m an angel in his eyes.”

“Yeah, right, in his eyes…”

“Do you want to go to the beach or not, Styles?” Louis fires back. “Because with this attitude, I think I'm just going to go by myself and let you cook to your death in the city.”

“You wouldn't dare abandon me.” Harry says as he sits back up. “I'll bring sandwiches and strawberries for lunch, if you want.”

“Yeah, that's more like it.” Louis smiles with a victorious tilt to his head. “Come on, let's go.”

Louis stands up and holds out his hand to help Harry to stand before withdrawing quickly, and together they climb the steps to the gardens perched high above the piazza. They pause for a moment to appreciate the view from the top of the stairs, the sun still high in the sky and people reduced to tiny figures moving around below. Eventually, Harry turns away and finds Louis already looking at him, his sunglasses now perched on the top of his head. Harry prefers it that way, because Louis' eyes are definitely one of his top three favourite features. They should never be hidden, or worse, tainted with sadness. If Harry has made it his mission to never let that happen in the past ten weeks, it's nobody's business really.

They wander in the gardens for a solid hour, talking and laughing without any effort, as if they’ve known each other for years and not just two and a half months. It’s funny really, how Harry feels like they met each other yesterday and yet Louis seems to have cracked him open effortlessly. They share a common sense of humour, they love the same music, the same artists. But Harry lives for the differences between them, how Louis has such a wildly different experience of family, what with growing up without a father but with multiple sisters. How he likes Botticelli just as much as Harry does, but would sell his soul for a conversation with Caravaggio. 

Louis is a prankster too, something Harry has never been. He likes to give Harry a good scare from time to time, and more often than not, Harry doesn’t see it coming at all. 

Like today, when he decides to push Harry out of the blue towards a tourist walking in their direction, only to grab him by the arm at the last second to avoid a certainly painful collision. 

His laugh is so contagious that despite his best efforts, Harry ends up laughing with him, though not before slapping him lightly on the arm for his trouble. Sometimes, if he's lucky, Louis quickly hugs him from behind, his chin resting for a second on Harry's shoulder as he whispers an apology. It doesn't happen often though, and Harry doesn't know if he should be grateful or sad. He takes what he can get, because whether Louis knows that the small gesture makes his heart race faster every time, what matters is that he gets to have these moments. He gets to have Louis as a friend, and that should be enough. Six months ago he wouldn't have dreamt of having someone who understands him so well.

A week before Christmas, Harry had received the envelope bearing the seal of the Sapienza University, big, bold and red. The letter was light as a feather, but the positive answer had lifted an enormous weight off of Harry's heart. The Sapienza committee had accepted his application for a four month internship in Rome, in the department of Arts. He was expected to send back some documents, signed and dated, to the Italian administration, as well as a copy to his own university for coordination, but other than that he was all set. He was going to be living in Rome, studying art with the best teachers in one of the most culturally rich cities in the world. Alone in his bedroom, Harry had cried hot tears of joy and pressed the acceptance letter to his heart, the promise of the adventure of a lifetime finally, effectively taking shape.

Harry had arrived in Rome only two days before the official start of the internship, and during the entire walk from his flat to the University for the welcome ceremony, had felt like he could have thrown up any time. He was a twenty year-old boy, shy by nature and discreet by choice, left alone in a city he didn't know, without allies and with no interests other than his love for long deceased artists and centuries-old paintings. He knew he had that in common with the other students selected for the programme but still, he had been a ball of nerves when he’d arrived in front of the heavy wooden doors of the Sapienza' grand hall.

In retrospect, Harry realises he’d had nothing to worry about. Only eight students from across the continent, including himself, had been selected. Two of them were sweet Italian girls named Olivia and Diana. There was also a German guy, Wolfgang, a burly blond giant who was surprisingly shy, with a kindness to his eyes that immediately made Harry feel comfortable. A girl from Spain, Bebe, and Hans, a Swedish boy from Stockholm, clearly friendly and loud, were chatting animatedly about what to expect from the summer program. Only one student had not showed up yet.

Harry walked towards the bar as soon as he had scanned the place, hoping to calm his nerves with a prosecco with peach purée, and then busied himself mingling with the other students. They were all extremely different, but their shared interest in the arts brought them quickly together. Thankfully, everybody spoke English, and Harry admired them all for speaking another language when he himself only knew poor basics in Italian. He couldn't help but feel privileged to be part of such a journey, with such interesting people to share it with.

Harry was finishing his second cocktail when the Dean of the University made his way onto the small stage and cleared his voice loudly, prompting everyone, students and teachers alike, to take a seat and finally allow the ceremony to start properly.

And then, twenty minutes late, arrived Louis, a fellow British student. He had made a remarkable entrance, the door shutting loudly behind him, and all eyes fell on him at once, everyone twisting to stare at him from their seats. Louis had offered a contrite smile and uttered a breathless 'scusi' before taking the only available seat, next to Olivia.

The Dean had smiled kindly, surprisingly unbothered by Louis’ tardiness, and greeted him rapidly before taking up right where he had left off. He outlined the different courses they would all be taking, and summoned to the stage the teachers one by one to explain which course they were in charge of.

They were going to be separated into two groups, which would change each month, giving them the opportunity to work with each student on specific topics. A substantial, yet optional presentation was to be given individually at the end of the internship in front of the university's committee. The presentation, if deemed worthy, could lead to a grant for conducting a PhD thesis, overlooked by their respective universities and the Sapienza.

Harry, much like the other students, had stars in his eyes as the Dean delved into the details of the thesis grant. Doing art studies for a living was an incredible opportunity. The chance to live off their passion in a world that gave little to no credit to their field of study was a rare and strongly desired occurrence. But here in Italy, it was cherished and obviously rewarded.

The Dean finished his speech soon after that, followed by a thunder of applause, the grandeur of the room amplifying and echoing the students’ enthusiasm. The Dean encouraged them to take advantage of the night to meet the other students and their teachers, and to ask any questions they had, before wishing them all a good night and an even better summer in the Eternal city.

The night had been exquisite, and Harry had found himself filled with joy by every single conversation he had held. Again, looking back, he shouldn't have been surprised that the loveliest conversation of the night was with the boy who arrived late.

Louis had approached Harry when he had left his own little group to fetch another drink. He was standing at the bar, waiting for the waiter to mix his drink when Louis came to his side and turned to him with bright, shining eyes.

“I didn't get a chance to properly introduce myself. I'm Louis Tomlinson,” he said as he extended a hand.

“Harry Styles,” Harry replied with a smile. By this stage of the evening he was tipsy, but not so much as to not notice how blue Louis' eyes were, or how he seemed to emanate a natural brightness. Louis was wearing a suit and a white shirt underneath with a blue collar. The suit seemed slightly worn out, but Louis still looked elegant and exuded charisma.

“So I guess we're the lucky Brits, eh? You and I should stick together, mate.”

Harry had chuckled and held the drink freshly presented to him in a toast, clinking their glasses together. 

They both took a sip and Harry, who wasn't usually this bold, dared to keep staring at Louis longer than what was acceptable. He couldn't help it though. He was mesmerised by Louis' delicate features, from the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled to the way only one corner of his mouth seemed to curve upward when he smirked. His skin looked soft to the touch, and the scruff he was sporting had small, red patches in it. His hair was neatly waxed to the side in a very classic fashion, something Harry would never get to see again because ‘_it's way too proper for good ol' me, Harold. I only did it because me mom made me promise to do it’. _

Eventually, Louis cleared his throat, catching Harry's attention again. He had blushed a deep red, knew it from the way his cheeks burned almost immediately, but Louis seemed more amused by him than anything.

“So Harry, tell me. Are you planning on presenting for the thesis?”

“I'm planning on getting the grant, yes.” Harry answered cheekily.

“Oh, I see.” Louis smiled. “Well, maybe I shouldn't fraternise with the enemy then.”

“You definitely shouldn't.”

Louis huffed indignantly but couldn't stop smiling and as he let his eyes travel all over Harry's face, as though trying to determine whether he was simply joking. He must have seen something he liked, because after a good five seconds he had held his drink up for another toast.

“I think you and I are going to be the dream team, Harry Styles. I have a good feeling about it.”

Still, it was unusual for Harry to feel so promptly at ease with people, especially men. The way he reacted to Louis that night was largely due to the alcohol lowering his inhibitions, and Louis' striking beauty which made him forget he wasn't meant to be so reckless.

The secrets and doubts he carries inside have always prevented him from completely letting his guard down, and so at first he shocked himself with how fast he warmed up to Louis, even after that first night. Maybe the fact that Harry was pretty sure they would never see each other again once back in England had been a contributing factor. Maybe unconsciously he deemed their friendship exceptional and contextual, saw Louis as a temporary companion he'd forget all about after the internship was done. But now, after basking in Louis' presence for ten wonderful weeks, these thoughts make him sadder than he would have ever imagined. A life without Louis seems painstakingly boring.

It is still early when they finally get around the Pincio Gardens for the umpthieth time, but Louis leads Harry around the park with intent, the smirk on his face obvious. He has an idea on his mind, and although Harry doesn’t know what it is, he follows like an eager puppy, curious to know where Louis is taking him. Once they reach the pond where barks are situated, he easily guesses what Louis is up to.

Louis ends up convincing Harry to rent a small row boat so they can take it around the lake. Just as he predicted, Harry ends up paddling by himself while Louis stretches out in the bark, a smug smile on his face and his legs bracketing Harry's. The muscles in Harry's arms hurt from the effort, but the utter bliss painted on Louis' face is enough for it to be bearable. They spend thirty minutes circling the lake, basking in the beauty of it all, until Louis gently pulls Harry's hands away from the paddles and takes over to lead them back to shore.

“That was nice,” Louis says as they finally find themselves on the ground.

“It was,” Harry replies. “Next time, you're paddling though.'

“Hey, I brought us back, didn't I?”

“Yeah, yeah. But only after you saw me agonising over there.” Harry pouts.

“Oh, stop complaining Curly, I know you like to show off. Only gave you the opportunity to do so.”

“Right, right.”

They part ways exactly where they met earlier, down the piazza del Popolo still buzzing with activity, tourists making their way once again to the restaurants to have a nice dinner while the sun dies down above. Harry goes back home alone but content, his entire body feeling sore and his cheeks burning hot after the day spent under the scorching hot sun. He makes a light dinner for himself, a tomato salad with basil and a succulent piece of burrata, before heading to bed with one of the books he has to read for school. He finally dozes off when the temperature cools down, the windows wide open and letting in a warm breeze which eases him softly into sleep. The last image he sees before falling into a deep slumber is Louis lying down on a cloud, floating, blue eyes staring at him, hands crossed on his belly and a fond smile on his lips. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next day is a Saturday, and Harry decides to go on a run around the city before the sun rises. As he takes the first turn around the corner of his street, he lets his mind wander to how lucky he is for living in such a nice neighbourhood. His flat is situated near Piazza Cavour, in one of the nicest parts of the city. His mom chose the flat for him and paid for all the expenses, for which Harry is eternally grateful. He still feels a bit ashamed depending so much on his parent's wealth, but he plans on giving back once he graduates and makes his own money.

He realizes now that he has Louis as a friend, how lucky he is to be in Rome and in this program. He wishes he had not been so narrow minded in the past but the truth is, Harry's friends back home lead very comfortable lives, just as much as he does. The struggle of purchasing expensive manuals or buying a tailored suit are not things he ever had to deal with. How different it is to know some people are poor and _ knowing _ those people, watching them struggle.

Louis is from Doncaster but he studies in Leeds, and he's managed to take part in the program because of a student's grant. He's here because he worked hard and was deemed the most deserving student out of all of them. He managed to find a small bedroom in the Trastevere neighbourhood, with a little help from the Sapienza administration but other than that, he has no one to thank but himself for standing where he does now.

Harry feels proud on Louis' behalf, he can't help it. Because Louis is a believer, an optimistic soul. He wants to be a painter one day, although he knows many obstacles stand between him and his dreams. He always brushes away the fact that he has no connection in the art world, and Harry admires his faith in the future just as much as he dreads the day that same faith will no longer be enough. Thankfully, for now it's not a concern, especially because Louis' family is very supportive and encourage him to persevere no matter what. From what Harry can tell, it's all that matters to him.

Harry chooses to take the long road to Trastevere, and as he runs along the Tevere river, he lets his thoughts take a dangerous path, one he doesn't often allow. Harry knows he loves boys, has known for a long time, and sometimes he lets himself believe that Louis does too. He imagines a world in which they could be together without the threat of imprisonment or shaming. He pictures a life where they could live together, in a nice little house near the city. Louis would have a room for painting and Harry would spend time in their garden, reading and writing. In this wonderful future, Louis has managed to become a successful painter, and Harry is a published author in vogue, who also teaches contemporary art at a prestigious university. People don't question the nature of their relationship and they lead a happy life together. As if.

As he bypasses [Castel Sant’Angelo](https://sweetstrawberryheadache.tumblr.com/post/189173580531/arthistoryfeed-castel-sant-angelo-by-night), he wonders if he should confess his feelings before they go back to England. In his head, the conversation is awkward and hard to hold, but Louis either gently lets him down or throws himself at Harry to kiss him until they’re both breathless. He never imagines Louis looking at him like he’s mad or disgusting, because the mere thought makes Harry want to cry. Some days he gets a rush of adrenaline and truly believes the time has come to open his heart to Louis, but on other days, he lets fear crush his resolve. It's a never ending cycle he's not sure he will be able to handle for six more weeks. He just might explode in the worst way possible before then.

It takes Harry 45 minutes to get to Trastevere, and another ten to get to Louis' flat. Harry’s not sure Louis will be there but he took the chance nonetheless, because they still need to plan the next day if Louis is set on going to the beach. And really, any excuse is a good one to spend time together.

As he approaches Louis' building, Harry can hear children shouting and so he decides to follow the voices. Louis is having an early football game with the boys, with makeshift goals on both sides of the narrow streets. There’s clothes hanging on threads high up above their heads, and delicious smells escaping the kitchen windows signaling lunch time is looming. 

Harry’s heart misses a beat when his eyes fall on a shirtless Louis, dribbling and running around the children like a professional player. His back muscles are straining, and his fringe is plastered to his forehead, but he sports a large grin on his face as he snatches the ball from one of the teenagers playing against him. He looks ethereal, a dream straight from Harry’s wildest fantasy, the embodiment of happiness. He’s obviously better than the kids, but he lets them take the ball away from him, when he could easily keep it and just score. He shouts encouragements in Italian to the other players, even though they're not on his team and he laughs at his teammates when they try to dissuade him to do so.

_He’s perfect _ , Harry thinks to himself. _ Selfless. So, so good._

It takes a minute for Louis to notice Harry’s presence but when he does, his smile lights up the entire world. He lets one of the kids snatch the ball from him and then he jogs to Harry, his smile never disappearing.

“What are you doing here?” he asks a bit breathless, brushing his long sweaty fringe from his eyes. Harry follows the movement, and suddenly he’s parched. Between his long run and Louis, the need for water just increased tenfold.

“Water.” Harry croaks out, as his hand comes to his throat on instinct. The bottle he carried with him lived a short life as expected, and he’s barely got any saliva left as it is. Louis frowns determinedly and dashes to a spot of shadow where he retrieves a bottle. He’s back in a second and hands it to a grateful Harry. 

“Why anyone would choose to run in this heat.” Louis utters in disbelief as he shakes his head.

Harry ignores him, and as he uses the remnants of the bottle to splash himself, he sees Louis gulp, eyes travelling down his body appreciatively. It doesn’t last more than five seconds, but it’s enough for Harry to notice, the action having the consequence to launch a small party at the pit of his stomach.

“You're playing football." Harry retorts. "Anyways, I wanted to know if we were still going to the beach tomorrow.”

“Yeah… About that.” Louis says hesitantly. “The deal is, Marco needs the car so he’s willing to take us ? But we’ll have to find a way to get back.”

“That’s alright.” Harry says. “We will, won’t we? Someone will take us back or we’ll take a bus, that’s fine.”

Louis smiles fondly and squeezes Harry’s arm, the touch light and barely there but Harry feels the electricity coursing through his veins as he does so.

_ Behave Styles, come on. _

“I’m glad you feel that way, H. Was afraid you were going to chicken out.”

“No, no, of course not.”

The moment is interrupted by one of the boys shouting in Italian, urging Louis to get back in the game because apparently his team is nothing without him and they’ve lost the advantage.

“You wanna join us?” Louis asks with a smirk.

“No.” Harry pouts. “You know I’m terrible at football.”

“I know,” Louis smiles mischievously, “would have been fun.”

“ I wonder why I’m your friend sometimes.” Harry says with a roll of eyes.

“You love me, quit the act.” He pauses a second, hesitation taking over for a second as he bites his bottom lip. “Stay for lunch though?”

It's Harry’s turn to bite his lip, but only because he doesn't want to let the smile completely take over his feature.

“Yeah, okay.”

Louis goes back to the game and Harry sits in a shadowy corner to escape the heat. He manages to handle it for fifteen minutes before it becomes unbearable. Half of the kids have already given up on the game when he decides to go upstairs anyway, so Louis should join him anytime soon.

He finds Marco’s wife Cristina in the kitchen, and immediately offers to help her make lunch, which she gratefully accepts. Louis comes up after a while, face red and still shirtless. He smacks a kiss on Cristina’s cheek and goes to take a shower, while Harry peels the potatoes so Cristina can make them with cream and Parmesan. 

The whole flat smells amazing. Cristina makes a tomato salad with fresh basil she picked from her balcony earlier, while the potato dish cooks in the oven. There’s a piece of veal with mushrooms sizzling in the pan, and Harry dares to taste the sauce while Cristina is not looking. 

Harry can’t help but feel sad for a second, as thoughts of leaving this lovely city and its inhabitants comes to mind. He wishes he could shoo them away, but everyday brings him closer to his departure and he isn’t handling it well. 

Luckily Louis enter the room, dressed in a tank top and shorts, his hair damp from the shower. He speaks with Cristina in Italian, and Harry doesn’t understand everything but the fondness is unmissable; they truly care for each other. It shows in the way Cristina pats his cheek when Louis tells her he’s going to set the table, Louis leaning into the touch automatically. 

The radio is on, classic Italian hits blasting through the old radio set in the living room. Louis interrupts Cristina’s cooking to dance with her despite her protests, but soon she relents and lets Louis waltz her away, one hand on her waist and the other clutching her wrist as she holds a fork. Harry can't stop glancing up at them with a smile every ten seconds, the scene a bit cliché but so heartwarming. 

Marco arrives right on time for lunch, and they all take a seat at the table, talking and laughing loudly at Marco’s anecdotes from work. Harry tries to keep up as much as he can, but he knows he misses a few jokes here and there. They speak Italian of course, mostly because Cristina doesn’t speak English very well, but Louis whispers the meaning of things every time he spots Harry puzzled expression. 

Harry leaves the flat around three, with the promise not to be a stranger and to be here again tomorrow at 9 am to go to the beach. He gets a firm handshake from Marco, and a kiss on both cheeks from Cristina, as if he’s going to war and not on the other side of the city. Louis escorts him to the door and quickly runs his hair through the curls at the back of his neck, making Harry self conscious of the sweat gathered there. Deep down, he knows the shiver he gets from the touch has little to do with embarrassment. It never does. 

The next morning, Harry wakes up with the first rays of sunlight shining through his room and he stretches slowly, his body already taking in the heat outside in full blast. How Romans survive the summer is still a mystery to him. He makes a quick breakfast consisting of toast with butter and a glass of red orange juice, then sets out on making sandwiches for the day, just as he promised Louis he would. He packs everything they need in record time, and leaves his flat in a rush with a pep in his step. 

Marco and Louis are waiting for him outside their building when Harry gets there, the truck already loaded with their respective bags. Cristina has prepared them lunch despite Louis’ assurance that Harry was bringing one. It’s clear to Harry now that no one can say no to this woman, not even her husband. He finds the gesture so endearing, he can’t be annoyed with having brought simple sandwiches made from scratch when surely Cristina has concocted them something tastier and overall better than Harry could ever have dreamed of preparing with his limited culinary skills. 

The drive to the beach doesn’t take as long as Louis predicted, and when they get there, they bid farewell to Marco before going down the small hill that leads to the crowded beach. The heat is different by the sea, and despite pearls of sweat rolling down his back, Harry doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating. The water is calling his name, and he can’t wait to spend the day lounging on his towel, toes buried deep in the sand. 

Despite the crowd, they quickly find a spot on the beach. Harry takes his time setting down his towel properly, but Louis can’t be bothered with that. He throws the bundled up towel on the sand and runs into the water at light speed, his high-pitch scream covered by the noise surrounding them, some kids running in and out of the water, others bickering about how a sand castle should be built. 

A light chuckle escapes Harry’s lips as he watches him dive into the water. He sticks the beach umbrella in the sand and puts their lunch bag right under it, certain Cristina will be annoyed if she finds out their lunch was inedible due to the heat.

Once everything is set the way he likes, the blue towel and the green one positioned side by side, he throws down his shirt and slowly walks toward the water. Louis is doing his own version of a crazy whale, splashing around and spluttering water out of his mouth and Harry watches him with a fondness only reserved for Louis.

“You look ridiculous.” Harry says as he calmly swims towards him. 

“No such thing Harold, I’m the most graceful creature you’ve ever seen, don’t try and deny it.”

Harry giggles softly, but soon enough the noise is muffled. Louis throws himself at him with a wicked grin that calls for trouble and pushes him down into the water by his shoulders. Harry gets a second to take a deep breath before he’s immersed completely into the water, limbs flailing desperately as he tries to fight back. When Louis finally lets him out of the water, he swims away as fast as he can, but Harry can be quick too. He grabs Louis’ ankle and pulls as hard as he can, and the only thing he hears before they enter an epic battle is Louis shouting ‘_ Traitor!’ _followed by a bubbly sound.

The water is at a perfect temperature, and when they get tired of assaulting each other, they just lazily swim around together. Louis turns into a real life octopus as he wraps his entire body around Harry; Feigning exhaustion as he lets him keep them afloat. Of course, Harry doesn’t mind, and he clings to Louis tightly, one arm around his back and a hand gripping a muscular thigh. No one is paying attention to them, and Harry fully enjoys these moments of unexpected intimacy. 

They finally decide to get out of the water to lay in the sun, Harry under the umbrella and Louis fully exposed to the sunny rays. Louis gets a warning from Harry, but he just shrugs the concern away as he closes his eyes and gets comfortable on his towel. 

It’s not rare for Harry to see Louis without a shirt, obviously because the weather compels anyone to lose clothing whenever possible, but Harry has never seen so much exposed skin. Louis is toned. All chiseled abs and defined arms, strong legs and delicate ankles. Droplets of water run slowly down his body, and Harry quickly drops his head in embarrassment when a filthy scenario starts playing in is head. He could spend hours kissing every each of Louis' body, if only he could. 

The day is spent in the same manner, both of them going back and forth to the water to freshen up and fool around like children, and Harry fantasizing with as much subtlety as he can muster. They eat their lunch in silence, exchanging happy looks and secret smiles over their delicious picnic. Harry blames the heat for making him delirious and wanting so desperately to just scoot closer and kiss Louis softly on his salty lips, or touch his sun-kissed skin. 

Around four in the afternoon, people start to leave and they decide to go back to the parking lot to look for a good soul to take them back to the city. Thankfully, Louis chats easily with anyone and his Italian is impeccable. A man named Alessandro agrees to take them back, but they’re warned early on that it is going to be a tight fit in the car with his three children. The boys gratefully accept, and they get back to the city before the sun sets, singing Italian songs loudly with the kids during the entire ride. 

They ask Alessandro to drop them at Harry’s flat and Louis decides on his own accord to spend the night at Harry’s. Harry doesn’t even point out that he never asked, he just goes with it. 

“I really love your flat, H.” Louis says as they enter the living room, with an awed expression. “So much space, and so pretty.”

Harry smiles as he drops their bags unceremoniously on the floor. 

“My mom came to Rome to choose it, I was still passing my mid-term exams.”

The flat is not big really, but to Louis who has a tiny room in a flat that houses four other people, it must be huge. Harry’s mother had chosen an already furnished place, and all the latest accommodations had been done before he arrived. The living room has a brand new radio and a turntable, which was designed in the latest American fashion, poised to play the jazz records stocked underneath. A velvety red carpet that matches the sofa and the curtains make the room welcoming, bathing the space in a magenta hue when the sunlight streams in through the windows. Harry spends most of his time in his room, because it’s easier to work at the massive oak desk he has there, but sometimes he enjoys reading a book here in the living room, while music plays softly in the background. 

“We should spend more time here.” Louis says as he plops down on the sofa. “It’s not even hot in here.”

“You’re always welcome, you know that.” 

Louis smiles and gets comfortable while Harry takes out their wet towels from their bags. Harry can feel eyes on him as he busies himself around the flat but he doesn’t comment on it. He gets a high from it, knowing Louis is watching him intently. It only takes a minute to put everything away, and as he steps out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that lead to his balcony to put their towels to dry, he hears Louis grunt loudly. 

“I think my back is a bit burnt.” 

“Obviously.” Harry scoffs. “I told you not to stay in the sun like that.”

“Yeah, yeah you did. Do you have something to help? Like a lotion or something?”

“I do have one. Aloe vera I think.”

“Well… Would you mind ?” Louis winces as he pats his shoulder, the press of fingertips leaving white marks on the skin. 

“Hum, yeah ok. I’ll be back in a sec. Just… Take off you shirt.”

Louis does so immediately, revealing once again his sinful body, and Harry hurries to the bathroom to retrieve the body lotion. He takes a minute to collect himself, and as he splashes water on his face, he wonders how he ended up pinning so hard for such an oblivious boy. One who doesn’t even realise that applying lotion to his back will send Harry spiraling into the worst mental turmoil. His situation would have been so much easier if Louis had been able to see right through him, and had chosen to keep his distance. It could have been a polite friendship, nurtured only in the confines of the Sapienza’s library walls. But no, Louis had to be his perfect self, and take Harry under his wing. Torturing him on a daily basis with fond looks that made Harry’s heart skip a beat, witty remarks and a body sculpted in marble for Harry to secretly admire. 

With a sigh, Harry quickly dries his hands on a towel and slaps himself not so gently to regain some kind of countenance. It has the merit to shock his system enough to find focus again, and he exits the bathroom with a newfound confidence. He can do this, he can. All he has to do is approach the situation in a completely platonic way. 

When he gets back in the living room, Louis is sprawled on the sofa, head pressed to the cushions, hands above his head and back muscles straining with the position. He traded the swim shorts for light blue linen pants that are doing wonders for the swell of his bum, and Harry gulps, lips pressed in such a thin line it’s almost painful. So much for self control. 

“You better sit down, Lou.” He says in a raspy voice. 

Louis grunts and turns his head slowly, his eyes a bit glassy. He always gets sleepy after being outside in the sun for extended periods, but it seems worse today. What with all the swimming, the fighting and the rides in and out of the city, exhaustion has taken over He looks so soft too, vulnerable even. Harry just wants to gently push him against the sofa and lay beside him for a cuddle. 

“Just sit on me, I don’t mind, I don’t want to get up.” 

“Louis…” Harry pleads. Sitting on Louis like this is definitely a bad idea. He’s already half-aroused by the mere sight of him. 

Louis relents and sits up but the resigned, almost sad look on his face doesn’t escape Harry’s attention. He doesn’t know how to interpret it though. 

Now that he has space to sit, Harry scoots closer and uncaps the bottle. Harry starts by dropping a good amount of lotion directly onto Louis’ back. The liquid is cool under his fingertips, and he begins massaging Louis’ back gently, afraid that he’ll hurt him further if he presses too hard on the sensitive skin. 

“Feels good.” Louis whispers as he lets Harry touch him in a way he never has before.

Harry hums but doesn’t say anything, too focused on the task at hand. He’s also fighting his own body, and it’s hard, so hard. Usually Harry loves a good pun, but right now, he has no desire to laugh.

However, he doesn’t want Louis to suffer through the burn, so he directs his attention to rubbing the lotion onto every single inch of pinkish skin he can see, fingers expertly stroking Louis’ back in the most soothing way he can manage. 

It’s only when Louis starts to moan that Harry decides to wrap it up. He finishes up quickly before scooting away, hands trembling slightly. He feels high on Louis, he just wants to keep touching him, but he needs for it to mean something. Not just two pals helping each other out. It’s not enough, and it’s never going to be enough. Harry’s heart aches so much he has to fight the tears from welling up in his eyes. He decides to shut down the malicious voice in his heart telling him to confess his feelings soon instead of letting them continue to churn in the pit of his stomach, turning him slowly into an emotional mess. 

“All set, my friend.” he declares instead as he stands up from the sofa. He goes to the kitchen to wash his hands and collect himself. He can’t help glancing at Louis as he puts his shirt back on though. 

_ Now is not the time, don’t be ridiculous. _

Louis soon joins him in the kitchen and hops up on the counter, feet dangling off of it as he watches Harry wash off the cup he left there in the morning. 

“I’m starving.” Louis says with a yawn. “What are you making?”

Harry laughs softly, and turns his head to the side. “Never said I was making dinner.”

“You never said I could stay the night either, and yet here I am.” Louis bites back cheekily. 

Harry scoffs, and as he turns around, he evaluates how he can impress his boy with his cooking skills. 

“How about… Pasta with pesto? I’m pretty sure I have a good chunk of parmesan and a bottle of red wine somewhere.”

“Sound delicious, H.”

“Pesto it is, then.” 

Harry starts working on dinner immediately, and Louis hops off the counter, set on finding cutlery and plates to set the table on the small terrace. The weather is still kind, and they silently agree on eating outside. Harry loves to see Louis move and busy himself in his space, his movements graceful without any effort and this constant energy that is so Louis radiating off of him in waves, always. It’s almost magical. 

Louis opens several cupboards before he finds the right ones, all the while humming a song Harry doesn’t recognize. They work in tandem easily, and Harry rejoices in the simplicity of it, how domestic they can be. Harry pours the pesto sauce into a large bowl and adds in the pasta, sniffing the contents of the bowl happily as he mixes it all together. From a distance, he can hear Louis fumbling with the turntable, the scratchy sound it emits unmissable and so familiar. Bessie Smith starts singing '[Downhearted Blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=go6TiLIeVZA) **'** in her velvety voice a second later and Harry smiles, silently validating Louis’ choice of record. 

“I love her.” Harry says as he sets the pasta dish on the table. 

Louis is already sat outside, and he gives him a crinkly eyed smile as he lights up a cigarette. 

“She’s brilliant, really.” he says. “I just love her voice so much.” 

Harry nods in agreement, and serves them both a good amount of pasta, before pouring the wine in the elegant crystal wine glasses Louis found somewhere. He didn’t even know he had those. 

“How come we’ve never went to the beach before?” Harry asks. “I mean we’ve been in Rome for a while, should have done that long ago.”

“I didn’t know we were so close to be honest.” Louis says. He crushes the butt of his smoke on a little ashtray and puts it away. “I thought it was a much longer ride to get there.”

“Well, we should definitely do it again. This time with lots of sunscreen, I gather.” 

Louis kicks him under the table gently, and Harry fakes outrage as he rubs his palm against his shin, but they end up grinning at each other.

Harry wonders if Louis is like this with everybody else. If he fits so well with his friends in England, if he smiles that much in the presence of the “lads”. Louis takes a bite of his pasta, and the moans he lets out has the merit to bring Harry out of his reverie, but also be the cause of the blush covering Harry’s cheeks almost immediately after he hears it. Thankfully, Louis keeps his eyes closed as he swallows and Harry picks up his fork and starts eating as well. 

The pasta is delicious, with the chunks of parmesan melting in it, and so they eat in comfortable silence. It’s beautiful to witness how the sky turns from orange to a soft pink, with sparse clouds here and there painted in a dark purple. 

Between the two of them, they finish the bottle of red wine easily and Harry is tipsy. He laughs loudly at anything Louis says, throwing his head back occasionally as a graceless honk escapes him. Louis looks delighted by it, encouraged to blurt out more insanities to make Harry howl in laughter. 

“So did you begin on your project or are you still stalling?” Harry asks as he gathers their plate. 

“I decided not to do it.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah… I realized that’s a bit unrealistic to want to stay here. My family needs me in England. And to be quite honest, I need them just as much. I can’t picture living here for two to three years. The twins are so young still, me mom needs all the help she can get.”

While Louis says the last words with a chuckle, Harry detects a bit of sadness behind his eyes. 

“But enough about me, what about you?” 

“I made progress. It’s not perfect but I’m getting somewhere I think.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be brilliant, H. They would be crazy not to choose you. Might be an amazing opportunity for you to get into teaching here and you can write anywhere in the world so…” 

Harry hums with agreement but doesn’t comment further. The future seems so uncertain for now, he’d rather not dwell on it. 

Once the table is clear and the wine is finished, they decide to have one last drink. Harry has a bottle of limoncello in the bar cabinet, and the sweet citrusy liquor is the perfect replacement for dessert. They keep talking long after their drink is finished, but the alcohol has made them both sleepy and they keep their voices down, as if they’d disturb the quiet surrounding them if they dare to speak louder. 

They decide to go to bed and Harry brings Louis a duvet so he can cuddle up on the couch. He’d rather sleep in his bed with Louis, but he doesn’t want to offer, afraid of being too forward. The thing is, while his brain keeps screaming at him that Louis is not interested, there’s another tiny, tiny voice on repeat whispering that maybe he is. It’s easy to interpret really, when Louis can’t seem to stop touching him whenever he has the chance. Whether it’s a brush of fingers or a ruffle, it’s still happening and Harry thrives on these random physical contacts. 

“Goodnight, Lou.” Harry whispers into Louis' ear as he hugs him goodnight. “Sleep tight.” 

“Night, H.” Louis whispers back, squeezing Harry body against his a little tighter than necessary. "Don't let the bugs bite." 

Harry chuckles as he lets go, and he shuts off the lights on his way to his bedroom, a silly smile lingering despite his his best effort. He doesn’t shut the door behind him, and once he's slipped into the sheets, he watches Louis struggling to find a comfortable position to sleep in, turning and rolling in the sheets until he settles. The room is dark but a sliver of moonlight reflects on Louis' profile, and the serene look on his face eases something deep into Harry's soul. It’s enough for now, to know his boy is happy and safe, and so so close.


	3. Chew on my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, Hi it's me again! Long time no see! I'm a terrible writer who shouldn't do WIPs but here we are. Just know I don't intend to give up on this story, it might take time but this will get an end. I got a lot in store for this two, so if you decided to give this story a chance, thank you for your patience. I'll come back soon :) 
> 
> All the kudos to my beta, B you are an angel, thank you for putting up with me.

Harry loves the Sapienza library. He loves the smell of old books, the Renaissance paintings on the ceiling, the old, grumpy librarians shushing and groaning at undisciplined students. He likes perusing through the aisles, reading the little cards set next to the glass covered displays of ancient relics. He feels at home here, amongst students and teachers feeding their minds as much as they can. Absorbing knowledge like their lives depend on it.

Libraries have always been a sanctuary for Harry, and books a way to escape reality. His mum said to him once that every time he’d read a book, a part of it would stick within him forever, whether he enjoyed it or not. 

“Books are a bit like people, honey. You may not like them all, but they’ll have an impact on you, on how you see the world. And hopefully, from time to time, you’ll stumble upon one that’ll change your life.” 

Harry softly scoffs at the memory. Of course his mum was right, she always is. He makes a mental list of those people, these individuals that left a permanent imprint on him; his first art teacher, his sister, Niall. Louis. 

_ Now is not the time, Styles. Remember why you’re here. _

Whenever he has a hard time working at home, Harry comes to the library to draw on the studious energy pouring out from the other students. He’s been here for hours now, and still he could stay until closing. Today is that kind of day. Here, his brain tends to wander less. 

Ever since their little escapade to the beach the weekend before, Louis is pretty much everything Harry can think about, and it’s starting to be unhealthy, almost damaging to his studies. Louis may have decided not to present a personal project but Harry did, and he still has work to do for his group project. The deadlines are fast approaching, and Harry doesn’t have the luxury to daydream about a boy he’s leaving for good in a few weeks. Besides, he feels a bit ridiculous about it all, is the thing. His crush is getting out of hand, worse than before since that night at his flat. 

The problem is, Louis is definitely starting to notice something is going on with Harry. He is constantly seeking him out, asking Harry for a break in his studies to go out, or to simply walk aimlessly in the city until there’s no one in the streets, and nowhere to go but home. And usually, Harry can deal with Louis’ constant need for attention. He loves being the one who provides, but it makes it harder to keep his distance, physically and emotionally. That’s the reason why Harry had to invoke the ‘_ I need to work on my project _’ excuse, so Louis would stop suggesting activities Harry wants to take part in, but objectively should not. Louis seems to have accepted the excuse by now, but Harry hates the sad look he gives him every time Harry walks away to “study”. Still, it would be easy, so easy to lose himself in Louis. 

Harry sighs louder than necessary, closes his eyes before taking a deep breath and focusing back on one of the dozen art books open in front of him, the smell of the old manuals helping a bit. He can do this. He has to. 

He’s so deep into his research- the tip of his nose almost grazing the page of his book as he scribbles down worthy quotes and concepts- that he doesn’t hear Diana strolling towards him. It takes a gentle squeeze to the shoulder for Harry to gaze up, Diana’s smile blinding and fond as she squirts her eyes at him.

Harry articulates a silent hello and squeezes the hand still on his shoulder. She unceremoniously plops down on the chair in front of him, eyes never leaving him, like a hawk. Harry does feel a bit like a prey under her attention. Anyone would really, with how charismatic she is. There’s a powerful energy coming from her, almost a bit dangerous. She’s the kind of girl Harry would imagine had past, tumultuous lives. She may have been a queen or a witch, he still hasn’t decided yet. Maybe both, even. 

They’re in the same group project this month, and although they had not talked much until they got paired up, he quickly took a shine on her. She has a bright personality, and an even brighter sense of fashion, and Harry is always in awe of the colourful outfits she puts on. She’s undeniably beautiful, too. She has soft chocolate eyes and light brown hair so long they reach the small of her back when she lets them down. Her plump lips are always painted in a deep red and usually her fingernails match. It’s impossible not to take a second look at her when she enters a room, and she knows it. She doesn’t abuse her natural power, but she certainly uses it when needed. 

She whispers a ‘hi’ and winks at Harry as she retrieves a notebook and a stack of pencils from a bag, and Harry can’t help but shake his head and roll his eyes fondly at her.

They’ve been working with Bebe and Wolfang for three weeks now, and the deadline on their group project is coming at an alarming pace. After discussing the details of what was left to do, they dispatched the rest of the work between them, in the hope to finish it today so they can have some free time to work on their personal presentation due at the end of the internship. 

Harry is a bit surprised she’s already here, though. The group is not meant to meet before a solid hour, and he thought he’d have time to work on his own presentation beforehand. 

“What are you doing?” She asks quietly as she leans over the table. 

“I’m working on my presentation. Didn’t do anything this weekend, I need to catch up.” 

“What is it about? You never told me.” 

“I’m trying to show to what extent the European literature of the late nineteenth century had an impact on Flemish painters? It’s quite vague for now, but I’m trying to show how this particular topic has not yet been exploited in the art research.”

“That’s cool.” She grins. “You always have the greatest idea, Harry. Like the one you got for our project? So interesting.” 

“Thank you.” Harry blushes. “To be quite honest, it was Louis that suggested we work on rivalries between contemporary artists. Choosing Bernini and Borromini as the main example was a given then.”

“I see.” Diana says flatly, the light in her eyes dimming. “Well, as much as you’d like to give Louis credit, I’ll give it to you if you don’t mind. You don’t really need Louis, trust me.”

Harry frowns slightly, and he is about to protest to that because _ yes, he does need Louis _, but he perceives something peculiar in the way Diana changes demeanor. He takes a moment to observe her, hoping to understand what would cause the sudden change. She’s fluttering her eyelashes and pouting seductively, and she keeps glancing at the door, as if she is on the lookout for something, or maybe someone to come up. 

_ She likes you _. The inner voice sounds ridiculously like Louis. 

Harry has always been very comfortable around girls. Probably because he was raised by his mum and his grandmother, and he grew up stuck like glue to his big sister’s side. And the truth is, Harry loves girls; he loves the way they move, the way they dress, the way their blush matches the colour of their lipsticks. He’s just not attracted to them. It doesn’t change the fact that he wants them to like him, he craves their seal of approval, it being the utmost distinction in a man’s world. _ Harry is the most charming, don’t you think, dear? _ he’d hear his mother’s friends say. _ Such a sweetheart, really. _

As he grew up and became more certain of his sexuality, Harry realized that having such success with girls prevented him from ever being suspected of liking boys. His multiple friendships with his parents’ friends’ daughters became the strongest alibi he could ever dreamed of. Flirting was never intentional, but it occured. 

And now, as he watches Diana smile at him with heart eyes and a faint blush high on her cheeks, Harry knows she has misinterpreted his true intentions. The intense look he’s giving her must mislead her further, because she leans over to brush a loose strand of hair away from his eyes, before she smoothes the fabric of his collar. 

“I like this fabric, very nice.” 

Her hand grazes the soft skin under Harry’s ear, a sensitive area, and he can’t help the hairs on his neck to stand on end, a shiver passing through his body. Diana smiles softly as she withdraws her hand from his neck, only to gently put it on his hand. She lets her index finger map out every single inch of his hand reverently, a worship of sort that throws Harry out a bit. He doesn’t say anything, an irrational sense of panic settling in his guts. He wants to take back his hand but doesn’t want to appear unsettled. He’s become a little paranoid these days, certain everyone can _ tell _. It’s stupid and annoying, but his mind is playing tricks on him. 

If not for the person standing tall by his side, appearing from nowhere and clearing his throat, Harry would have never reconnected his brain. Diana has stopped her ministrations, instead she’s intertwined their fingers. She’s still looking at Harry when she says, “Hey Louis, how are you today?” 

Louis is not looking at her either when he answers with a simple “I’m okay, Di, thanks for asking”, no he’s looking at Harry, who’s finally found his motor skills back, enough to glance up. What he sees makes his stomach shrink on itself. There’s a mixture of hurt and confusion in Louis’ eyes, a forced smile on his face, lips set in a thin, pale line, the muscles of his jaw prominent with how hard he’s gritting his teeth. There’s a storm going on in his heart, Harry can tell. He hates to be the reason for it. 

“I thought you said you were going to work on your thesis project today.” Louis says, eyes now focused on Harry’s hand pressed against Diana’s. 

“I did. I am.” Harry responds softly as he takes away his hand and presses on the page he stopped at. “We’re meeting with our group project afterwards.” 

“Harry was telling me about his own project just a moment ago. What’s your project about, Louis?” Diana asks with a sugary smile. 

“I decided not to present one actually, too much of a hassle if you ask me.” 

“That’s a shame.” She pouts. “Oh well, let’s hope Harry here gets it, I would be very happy to keep him in Rome a bit longer.” 

“I bet you would, Diana.” Louis bites back. “Anyways, I’ll stop intruding on your studious time together, and I’ll just go. I will see you later, Harry.”

“Of course, Lou. Maybe we can-”

Harry doesn’t get to finish his sentence, Louis has already taken long strides towards the exit, his retreating figure disappearing among the other students, leaving Harry confused and with a lingering sense of shame he can’t explain. It’s not like he was doing anything wrong, and yet it feels like it. He lets out a deep sigh and focuses back on Diana. 

“How do you say we stop studying for a while and go for a coffee instead?” Diana says. “The others won’t be here for another forty minutes, and I could really use the caffeine.” 

“You go, Di. I really want to keep working on this. Besides, I would not be much good company right now, I have a lot on my mind.” 

“Are you sure? Maybe, it will help get your mind off of things.” 

“I really doubt that.” Harry’s pointed look must do it, because Diana pouts but doesn’t insist, and as she gathers her stuff, the frown doesn’t leave her face. Harry purposefully ignores her, feigning being absorbed by the book in front of him, when really he’s read the same sentence for the thirteenth time probably. She mutters a small ‘see you later, then’ and disappears as well, just like Louis did a few minutes ago. 

Harry spends the rest of the time before the group joins him to work on the presentation thinking about why he feels the way he does, when really he hasn’t done anything wrong. it’s silly how sometimes the littlest thing can eat you up inside, make you question everything. Anyone could have come and gone and seen Harry holding hands with Diana, but the fact that it’s Louis, the fact that he got obviously torn up about it makes Harry want to run after him and just hold him tight. Telling him that it didn’t mean anything, that Diana doesn’t mean anything to him would at least soothe his heart for a moment. Louis would relax in his arms, and everything would be right in the world. Except Harry shouldn’t have to do anything to feel better, shouldn’t feel like Louis needs it. And yet, up until Bebe sits down in front of him, right where Diana sat earlier, his entire headspace is being consumed by how he can make Louis see how much he matters, how central he’s become. Bebe instantly senses something’s wrong with him, and not after a minute spent together, she changes seat for the one right next to Harry. She gently places a hand on his back and draws soothing circles along his spine until the others arrive, allowing Harry to relax a bit, each stroke a balm to his anxious mind. 

The study session goes well. They work well as a group, everyone is really interested in the subject, and has ideas that bring new perspectives to the project. Harry volunteers to write down the conclusion, and Bebe offers to help. She is doing her personal project on Bernini, and she’s definitely the one who brings the most facts to their study session. Harry is delighted to get to wrap it up with her, because she’s the one he gets along with the most in their little group. Unsurprisingly, it’s Louis’ fault. 

At the beginning of the internship, Louis and Bebe ended up in the same group for the first month of study project, and they quickly grew fond of each other. Harry went as far as saying that they were soulmates, his tone bitter despite his best attempt at hiding it, and Louis had laughed it off, told him he was silly to have such thoughts. Internally, Harry was fuming, waiting for Louis to deny it, or to say something like “ if someone can be considered my soulmate, it would be you, Haz.” but it didn’t happen. Now, the jealousy has faded, and Harry recognizes it as it really is. They _ are _ soulmates, in the most platonic way there can be. Louis treats Bebe like Harry imagines he treats his sister Charlotte. There’s no doubt Louis would fight for her, the love and affection is pouring out of him when it comes to Bebe, but there’s nothing romantic about the way they act around each other. And now, after working with Bebe on their group project, Harry sees it as clear as day. It doesn’t mean it was easy to deal with at the beginning. 

The sun is already setting down when they all part ways, and since Bebe lives in the same neighbourhood as Harry, she invites him to have a drink at her place. Harry accepts without hesitation. He could use the drink and a nice night in with a friend. 

Bebe’ flat is not as extravagant as Harry’s, but it is well decorated and cosy in a way Harry hasn’t quite achieved. It’s obvious Bebe has put a lot of work on it in an attempt to fight the homesickness they all experience from time to time. Harry can’t help but smile at the little details. There’s a red plaid on the sofa, and Harry easily pictures Bebe curled up on her sofa, a heavy book in one hand and a homemade glass of sangria in the other. A vase full of fresh white and pink flowers stands on a tiny marble table in the living room, the scent intoxicating in such a small place but very pleasing to Harry’s nostrils. The window of the kitchen is wide open to let in some air, and Harry can hear two of Bebe’s neighbours talking from their respective flats, debating how strong the coffee they dip the biscuits in for the tiramisu should be. 

Harry wishes he could join in the conversation, tell them that, as a foreigner, the stronger the better, but even after all this time spent in Italy, his Italian is still precarious. 

“They’re always bickering these two, I swear.” 

Harry turns around and finds Bebe holding a glass of red wine, the lipstick stain on the edge of it betraying her. 

“You couldn’t wait for us to cheer, didn’t you?”

“Oh hush, you!” She giggles before taking another sip on the same mark. “What you would like to drink, love? I got prosecco, this nice red wine, and a bottle of scotch somewhere.”

“I’d love a scotch.” Harry sighs. 

“That bad, huh?” She says with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, sit down and I’ll be back in a second with your drink.” She gently bumps Harry’s hip as she passes by him on her way to the kitchen, her flowy satin dress catching the light as the last sun rays filter through the open window. It only takes a minute for her to come back, drinks swaying precariously in her grasp and a packet of taralli stuck in between her elbow and her hip. 

They plop down on the couch with a sigh, both exhausted after a day spent studying, and Harry quickly retrieves his drink and the taralli, his impatience clear when he rips open the small bag with his teeth, a sudden hunger for it taking over. He picks up a couple of snacks, and Bebe laughs at loud at his face of ecstasy when the first one hits his tongue. He couldn’t care less about pretenses right now. Taralli are one of the best things he discovered in Italy, along with the stracciatella ice cream and the limoncello. 

“Stop your filthy noises, Styles, and tell me why you need the scotch so bad.” Bebe says as she folds her legs gracefully under her. 

“Maybe later, if you don’t mind.” Harry pleads with a shy smile. “For now, I’d rather talk about something else and enjoy your charming company.” 

“Asked like that of course…” 

They clink their glasses with a wink, a sigh escaping them both after a long day of studying and brainstorming on their project. They talk about it for a while despite how exhausted about it they are, but they quickly drift to lighter topics. At some point, Harry feels brave enough to talk to her about her crush on Wolfgang, unspoken feelings clear to see for anyone who knows her just a little. 

Harry can’t help but feel sad for Bebe, because as close as they are, Wolfgang stated months ago that he was very much in love with a girl back home who was waiting for him to propose. The chemistry he has with Bebe is undeniable, but some things are irrevocably stronger than attraction. She took the news and the rejection like a pro, never showing to anyone how affected she was by it. Harry only knows because Louis confirmed it in confidence. He probably shouldn’t have, but the boy seems incapable of holding out any kind of information when it comes to Harry. 

“I know that you know.” Bebe says the very instance the thought crosses his mind. “Louis told me he spilled my secrets. Poor boy felt so guilty, he almost cried.” She laughs and then, “we were really drunk that night.” 

A timid chuckle escapes Harry’s throat, with how unsure he is with Bebe’s reaction to the impromptu confidence. 

“We talked about many things that night. Well, mostly about you, really.” Bebe adds. 

“Did you, now?” 

“Yeah… He’s very fond of you. It’s quite charming to see two men being so close. It's refreshing, really.” 

“We’re very British in that regard, I guess.” He says as he twirls his drink, afraid to look her in the eyes. Only when Bebe clears her throat does he glances up, his cheeks burning without his consent. 

“I think it’s more than that. I don’t really know what it is, I don’t want to assume but… I just wonder sometimes, if things were different, if… If people were different, where would you be ? Where would you want to be?”

“I don’t know...” Harry exhales, his heartbeat uneven as he tries to calm himself down. “I’d be a teacher, that’s for sure, but the rest is… a blur, really.”

Bebe smiles at him, the kind of smile Harry only gets from his mother, when she knows something he doesn’t want to reveal or doesn’t even know yet. It’s full of understanding, and affection, a promise everything will turn out okay, if only he finds the courage within himself to be bold, to take a risk. 

"I think... I think that we live in world that just opened up to more, you know? Not everything has to be consensual, or approved. Whatever you and Louis have, it's precious. Not everyone is ready for the world, for the norms to change but we have to fight for this changes?" Bebe sighs, and as she leaves her glass on the table, Harry wants to let it all out. He wants to be able to profess his love, regardless of the consequences. He wants the world to know he'd do anything for Louis to be happy, even if it means walk away from him, from this ambiguous relationship they have. He'd walked through fire for him, if it meant being able to adore him the way he deserves to be. 

"We are the future babe, whatever that means. I don't like to make parallels, because everyone's story is unique, but from my personal experience, telling the truth, telling people how you actually feel about them, in any way, will set you free. Love, any kind of love, has to be brave. You have to stand tall, and only then will you be able to move forward. We're only humans after all. Honesty to yourself and to the people you care about will set you free, and eventually will set you on the right path, the one that is made for you."

"What about what people think, don't they count at all?" Harry retorts, eyes shining with unshed tears. 

"People who count, people who truly, undeniably love you? Eventually, they will come around."

Harry chuckles, and takes her hand to squeeze, hoping it conveys all he has to say but can't. Not just yet. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
